


Vagrant

by MarigoldVance



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Return to Treasure Island (TV 1996)
Genre: Jim is a teenager, M/M, Prompt Fill, Ross does his best, Ross is probably in his late 20s, Runaway!Jim, Vagrant!Jim, WinterFRE2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-19 09:30:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22442182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarigoldVance/pseuds/MarigoldVance
Summary: Ross finds something he can't let go of.
Relationships: Jim Hawkins/Ross Poldark
Comments: 12
Kudos: 20
Collections: GatheringFiKi - Winter FRE 2020





	Vagrant

**Author's Note:**

> for the prompt: " _26\. Person A gets off work late at night to find a stranger (Person B) sleeping in his car (something fancy, Range Rover, Bentley, Porsche SUV, etc.) because it was below 0F and he had nowhere to go._ "
> 
> i know it was supposed to be below 0° _but_ let's say it's _around_ 0° instead?

“You can’t keep doing this.” Ross scolded, hauling the boy out of the backseat of his car.

He had no clue how the boy kept managing to get in. The first time, Ross could admit, was his fault; he’d accidentally left the car unlocked when he’d run back into the building, to his office, to grab a file he’d forgotten. It was the _second third fourth_ time that boggled his mind. The boy was a natural misfit.

“ _Come on_ ,” The boy protested, “It’s freezing and wet and I have nowhere else to go!”

Ross’ brow fell heavy over his eyes, both in concern and suspicion. He held the boy against the drivers’ side door by the collar, glaring down his nose at him as he waited for the boy to buckle and tell Ross the truth. He didn’t say another word, simply stood his ground and stared back, gaze unwavering.

“Fine.” Ross conceded, releasing the boy with an unnecessary shove. “You’ll come back to mine tonight. But _only_ tonight. Tomorrow you’re out on your arse again.”

The boy grinned widely, unleashing a pair of dimples that made Ross swallow his tongue.

“Cheers,” The boy said and hopped around to the passengers’ side, shifting around in the seat and fiddling with the settings for the seat warmer. He grinned at Ross through the window as Ross watched the boy get comfortable in a car he had no business being familiar with. “Are you gonna get in? Or are you gonna enjoy the rain a little longer? I hear the flu is in this season.” He joked, snapping Ross to attention.

As they pulled out of the car park and into the road, Ross spared the boy a glance out of the corner of his eye.

“Why do you keep breaking into _mine_?” He asked, not bothering to clarify. The boy was smart enough to figure it out.

“Because I like yours best.”

The boy didn’t say anything more and Ross didn’t probe further, grateful for the silence that settled between them.

◊

Jim. His name was Jim. No last name. Not one he was willing to divulge, anyway. Ross didn’t care and scrawled his own last name after Jim’s first, filling out the rest of the form with haste and handing it back to the secretary. She scanned it and nodded; suggested he take a seat since the Director of Students was busy and it could be awhile.

He paced.

This was either the dumbest or brightest idea Ross had ever had.

The boy – _Jim_ , he corrected – needed structure and routine and a _normal adolescent life_ , for fuck’s sake, and Ross couldn’t keep worrying about him whenever he decided to leave the house and disappear for days at a time.

When Ross got home, setting the information in front of Jim at the dining table, Jim stayed quiet. He opened the package, flipped through the pages, bundled it back into the folder, all without speaking. Finally, he lifted his head and smiled at Ross. That smile with the sunshine eyes and dimples that meant Ross did something right.

Jim stood and fixed their plates with the supper he'd prepared, simple pasta and sauce. When Jim leaned over to set Ross' plate down, Ross caught him by the wrist and held him there. Jim froze, didn't pull away but didn't exactly welcome the touch. 

They remained like that – Jim slightly curled over Ross’ shoulder, wrist in Ross’ grip, and Ross watching his thumb stroke Jim’s skin – until Jim said, breathy, “It’s gonna get cold.”

◊

They fought.

Not _you’re so naughty, go to your room_ arguments. The sort of arguments that spur the neighbors to call the police because _was that a television or a body going through a window!?_

Ross hated what provoked it this time. It was close to Christmas and Jim’s grades were practically perfect. His teachers loved him, and he’d made friends – acceptable friends who didn’t need money for things they shouldn’t know about, let alone _use_ , at their age. They shouldn't have had to have a fight like this. Not now.

But something had been wrong, Ross had sensed it. The way he could sense the rain in the air before a downpour.

Jim had been lying to him about where he got to after school.

_At least he wasn’t curling up in strangers’ backseats again_ , a little voice in the back of Ross’ mind remarked. Ross didn’t give a cold shit. The boy had been keeping something from him and, as much as Ross believed in privacy, he couldn’t leave it alone.

It had led him to follow Jim from school to an apartment building where Ross had discovered Jim wrapped inappropriately (though impressively) around his music instructor, hands and mouths in places they shouldn’t be, and a look of desperation and terror on the instructor’s face.

Ross got him fired as soon as the principal’s ass was behind his desk the next morning.

And now Jim hated him.

Ross could handle that so long as he was able to deny that he and the music instructor shared an unsettling resemblance.

◊

Jim forgave him a week later when Ross stumbled home from the pub with bloody knuckles and whiskey on his breath. Jim didn’t need to ask when Ross said, “The prick was talking about you.” as if it explained everything.

Because it did.

◊

“You know,” Jim started, sprawled on the hood of his own car, recently purchased with the money he’d saved from the part time job he hated, “You have all the money in the world.”  
  


Ross hummed in acknowledgement, laying back on the blanket they’d draped over the windshield, gazing at the stars and enjoying the sound of the crickets as they chirped.

“You could’ve paid me to fuck off.” Jim commented, turning his head to face Ross.

Ross looked back, bringing a hand up to take Jim’s chin between his pointer finger and thumb, holding Jim there so he wouldn’t lose the importance of what Ross wasn’t saying.

“I didn’t want you to fuck off.”

His thumb snuck up, feeling Jim’s lower lip, catching the soft skin as it stroked across.

“And now? Do you still want to keep me?”

Ross huffed through his nose and dropped Jim’s chin, returning his gaze to the sky. Neither commented that he was now pressed up along the length of Jim’s side, bleeding his heat into Jim’s body. And if Ross’ pinky curled around Jim’s, who was to know?

“As long as you’ll let me.”


End file.
